


The Long Road Home

by RaccoonMama



Series: The Long Road Home [1]
Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Angst, Chaptered, Drama, Gen, Kidnapping, Thunder and Lightning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaccoonMama/pseuds/RaccoonMama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a stormy night at the Walter mansion, a sudden intrusion rips the family apart...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lightning and thunder shook the Walter mansion that night, keeping everyone fairly on edge. It was rare to get storms like these in San Diego, and the robots liked it even less. The Jon more than anyone had an instinctive dislike of such severe weather, and at the moment, he was curled up on a beanbag chair in Michael's room. The human was sitting on the floor with him, trying to keep him focused on anything other than the weather raging outside.

Not that it was really working that well, but he was trying.

“Go ahead and put down your pairs, buddy.” Michael kept his attention fully on his robotic companion, watching how the Jon shifted and tried to relax. He had just finished dealing out cards between the two of them and was waiting patiently. He didn't want to rush the smallest robot. He just wanted to give him a reminder. “I mean, if I'm gonna win, may as well do it sooner rather than later.”

The Jon glanced up at his friend at that comment, smiling just a little bit. “You don't know that you'll win. You're just being optimistic.”

In response, Michael grinned and gave him a light kick to the shin. “Come on, you old bucket of bolts. You can't possibly think you can one up me here.”

Their banter continued for a while as each one sorted the pairs out of their hand. Lost in a flash of lightning, headlights briefly shone into the window on the opposite side of the room. Not that either one noticed. They were passing cards back and forth, the Jon's posture and body language becoming more relaxed as their game wore on.

“The Spine said you were writing a new song.” The human shifted, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Is that the case?”

The little brass robot nodded a bit, reaching over to take a card from Michael's hand. “I wanted it to be about the stars. The Spine thought that would be an excellent idea. We're working out the lyrics, but it's very hard to think when it's storming like this.”

Michael shrugged a bit, leaning back as the Jon laid down another pair of cards. “I can help if you want. Your songs are always nice and light.”

Quiet again, the Jon nodded, and his head kept bobbing in time with a tune in his head. He had gotten to a point now that he could somewhat ignore the storm, the bright flashes of lightning and the windows rattling from the wind and thunder just an afterthought. He was safe with Michael. There was nothing to fear so long as he stayed near his friend.

He'd finally started to really get into the swing of the game and the beat of the music in his head when, after one particularly explosive round of thunder, the room was pitched into darkness, only lit by the Jon's brightly glowing blue eyes. He gave a little yelp, only settling when Michael's hand found his arm in the black. His voice sounded so odd in so much dark. “The power's out!”

“So I noticed. Come on. We should try to find the others and you're my best source of light at the moment.” The Jon stood when Michael did, shaking a little as the human held onto his arm. “It's okay, Jon; it's just a little power outage. We'll be back up and running in no time at all.”

* * *

The rest of the mansion was still and quiet except for the sounds of people running down the steps ahead. Michael estimated it must've been Steve. Leave it to the sound engineer to be the one who immediately went looking for the solution to any mechanical problem, from the robots to the mansion itself. It must've been a bad outage, he considered. When he and the Jon made their way past the Hall of Wires, there wasn't even the faintest dull hum from the Spine's usual hideaway.

Great. As if it wasn't bad enough that they were being stormed on. Now they had no way to keep the Jon distracted while the storm raged outside. The little automaton was clinging to his arm at this point. He loved the rain, of course, but the thunder and lightning were what really got to the little guy.

He paused when he heard voices, pleased to find himself correct. It was Steve's voice, coming from a level down. “Steve! Hey, Steve, up here!”

A few moments passed and a flashlight soon shown up the stairway. “Mike? You okay, man?”

“Yeah! Keep the light on; Jon and I are coming down.”

He gave the Jon's arm a gentle tug, finally getting him to follow down the steps to the first floor where Steve stood waiting, the Spine's head and spinal column draped over his shoulders like a scarf. The silver robot did not look at all pleased by this turn of events, but Steve spoke for him. “I was near the hall when the power went. Wires dropped him clean, and we couldn't get the manual controls to work so he could get into his body. So a scarf he is until I can figure out what's up with the power.”

Though the sight of the annoyed Spine draped over Steve's shoulder was amusing, it was his last sentence that really caught Michael's attention. “What do you mean what's up with the power? Didn't the lightning fry the generator?”

The sound engineer shook his head, clearly unsettled. “Everything's hooked in and running fine. You know as well as I do that the mansion doesn't run on the city's power, so it almost looks like the lines were intentionally cut.”

“That's crazy talk,” the Spine cut in, shifting slightly. “If anyone had come up to the mansion, I would've known straight off.”

Steve's expression tightened. “In a storm like this? I don't know. In any case, I'm headed down to the generator room and I could honestly use the help, Mike.”

Michael nodded, glancing back at the Jon. “Here, Jon, I'm gonna go with Steve real quick. Just stay right here in the stairwell, okay? I won't be more than a few minutes. We're just gonna get the backup generator online and I'll be right back up?”

The look on the Jon's face nearly broke his heart. “I could come along and maybe help?”

“Not right now, Jon; I'm sorry.” He gave a reassuring smile as he carefully extracted his arm. “I won't be more than a few minutes, I promise. Just stay right here and don't move.”

The two humans didn't give the Jon time to protest. They were already off down the stairs toward the basement. After all, what trouble could the Jon get into on his own in a mansion with no power?

Not that the Jon really wanted to find out. He sat in silence on the steps for a long time, wishing they had at least left the Spine with him. But no, here he was by himself, curled up in the stairwell. They meant well. There was a lot of talk of trying to break him of his fear of storms, but no one really pushed the matter. Now he was sitting and waiting impatiently and wishing something would happen.

The noise outside the window was the first distraction. It wasn't the storm; he knew all too well at this point what an actual storm sounded like compared to a completely unrelated sound. He stood up quietly, listening to the scraping around the windowsill. A tree, perhaps?

Against his better judgment, trying to ignore the howling wind and the crashing thunder, he edged toward the window. If not a branch, perhaps a lost animal, like a raccoon or a cat. He couldn't very well just leave it outside in this ungodly downpour, could he?

A quick peek outside revealed nothing at the cursory glance, but as he shrugged and turned away, he wished he'd taken a better look. In the next instant, the glass was shattering, and black gloved hands were reaching through the window to grab him and pull him away from safety, his cries drowned out by the sounds of the raging storm.

* * *

Michael Reed was not a superstitious man. He often said this because he had seen things in his lifetime far weirder than most superstitions, from the bizarre things that appeared from the Jon's wormhole all the way down to the mansion itself. So whenever he got the unpleasant feeling that something in the mansion just wasn't right, he tended to heed it.

In the times between thunder crashes, he could've sworn he heard screaming. At first he thought it was his imagination, and the wind playing tricks on his mind. When the screaming turned to choked cries for help, he started to realize he wasn't imagining it. He grabbed Steve's flashlight, trying to convince himself that it was just the Jon forgetting he'd been left in the hallway while they brought power back on, and darting up the stairs.

Whatever was going on, he couldn't let his little buddy keep carrying on like this. He was scared? He was scared. He'd help him calm down, as soon as he found him.

The cries turned to wailing and his heart wrenched. This was not just the Jon reacting to something that had frightened him. Something was going very horribly wrong, and he needed to get to his friend... now.

* * *

The humans that had grabbed him were terrifying. They wore riot gear and night vision goggles and gloves, and one of them was holding some kind of tool he couldn't quite make out. So many of them were speaking at once that he couldn't focus, even as he cried out for his friends, his top hat falling off at some point during the scuffle, laying discarded in the mud.

“If you don't shut up, our men storm this house and everyone inside dies,” hissed one of the men. “Don't think I'm making hollow threats, either. Just hold still and this'll be over faster.”

Frozen with the fear that the humans would make good on their threat, the Jon did cease his thrashing. The man who had spoken leaned over him, ripping fabric out of the way so he could cut the hydraulic lines to the Jon's arms and legs, causing the limbs to droop uselessly. Any attempt to fight back was negated, and the sudden immobility set the small robot to wailing again, unable to do anything more than move his head around as he was hauled toward a pair of black trucks sitting still and almost invisible in the stormy night.

Moments later, lights came on all across the Walter mansion. The Jon was unceremoniously tossed into the back of one of the trucks, the men hollering at each other to move faster, as the front door swung open. Michael was brandishing his banjo, shouting angrily at the retreating thieves as he ran out into the rain.

“Get back here! Let him go!” The trucks were gaining speed. He knew he couldn't keep up, but he kept sprinting, the rain blinding him and mingling with freshly forming tears on his cheeks. “No! JON!”

Michael's voice was lost to the wind and thunder, leaving him standing halfway down the driveway in the pouring rain, the sound of the trucks' engines vanishing quickly up the road, carrying the Jon far away from home... and away from safety.

The only thing he could think as the rain drenched his clothes and hair, continuing to mix with the tears now streaking down his face, was too loud to even try to plan through.

He shouldn't have left him alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is more painful than fiction.

The main sitting room in the Walter Manor was unnervingly quiet as the storm started to settle outside. With the power back on, Steve had immediately gone to get the Spine back in his body and find Rabbit. Sam, who had been on his way up to see what the fuss was about when he heard Michael yelling, was now in the process of coaxing his friend back inside out of the rain, tossing a towel over his head as soon as they were back inside.

Now they were all sitting around in various places, Rabbit sitting on the floor near where the Spine had taken over one of the big arm chairs, his long fingers pressed together at the tips in front of his face. His expression was tight and frustrated, glowing green stare focused on the floor. Sam and Steve were flanking Michael, watching as their companion worried the edge of the Jon's hat. The feathers were drenched with water and grit, the whole thing muddy from where it had fallen off in the scuffle. No one spoke, nor did they know what to do.

It was Steve who finally sat up a bit, one hand lingering near his dreds. “Okay. So what do we know?”

“We know some crazy guys in black grabbed the Jon and that's about it,” Michael replied quietly, staring down at the hat.

The Spine nodded solemnly, resting his chin against his hands. “And we know they cut the power to the mansion in order to do it, though I still have no idea how they managed that. QWERTY's complaining that she can't focus because of how suddenly it dropped.”

Sam shook his head a little bit. “Someone tampered with the line. The generator was basically being cut off. I found the hitch, but apparently a little too late.”

“Not your fault, Sam.” Steve leaned back, looking around at the group. “This is a disaster. We don't even know where they might've taken him.”

Clearly upset, Rabbit shifted uncomfortably, trying hard not to focus on anyone standing around them. “P-p-p-p-poor Jon. He mus-must be scare-are-ared silly.”

A grim expression crossed the Spine's face, and he was rather glad Rabbit wasn't looking at him at that moment. “All the more reason to find him as quickly as we can, then.”

As silence fell again, Michael pushed to his feet, face set in an expression of grim determination. “Well, I'm going to have a look around outside. If we're lucky, they left something we can track.”

No one even dared to try and stop him.

* * *

It was a cold, white, sterile room the Jon found himself in the following morning after the storm, strapped down to a table, though he wouldn't have been able to make an escape attempt if he tried. The hydraulic lines to his arms and legs were still severed. The only thing he was able to do was stare quietly up at the ceiling, steam hissing from his neck and nose as he fought to stay calm.

He had to think about this. What would Rabbit do in this situation? What would the Spine do? Or Michael?

Most of his answers involved not being incapacitated. That was a disheartening waste of time. The weird distortion of reality that sometimes occurred around him seemed to be fluctuating a bit, but it didn't cut through the cold reality of his situation. He was a prisoner, somewhere far from his home, and he didn't know how to get back.

He thrashed his head a bit, wishing he could find some way to pull against his restraints, but he stopped when he heard the woosh of air from an automatic door sliding open and then closing behind someone. The someone must've been wearing neat dress shoes, because they clicked against the floor loudly. Tile, maybe?

“So you're our little subject. What a marvel. You know, I grew up with my grandmother listening to records of you and the Walter family's other toys.” When the man came into view, he was smiling serenely. “The tall one with the deep voice was always her favorite. You are much smaller in person than I suspected you would be. My name is Dr. Nikolai Amsterdam.”

The little brass robot frowned as he looked up at the man, wishing he could at least fidget or shift to look up better. “Where am I?”

A grin split the man's weathered face. “Why, you're in the laboratories of Cryptodyne Industries. I do hope your trip here was enjoyable.”

“You stole me from my home!” For as frightened as he was, the Jon was almost more angry. “How am I supposed to find it enjoyable when you break into our home and steal me in the middle of the night?”

The man did not stop grinning, just patting the Jon's shoulder lightly. “We aren't stealing you. We've simply borrowed you. While we do want to see how you are put together? You aren't our only goal. At the end of this, we will have you and all the Walters' toys... as well as one other who is very necessary for our glorious purpose.”

The Jon's expression shifted uncomfortably. “Your... glorious purpose?”

Smiling, the man pulled over a tray on a wheeled stand. The Jon could not see what was on the tray, but as the man started going through whatever was there, he got the feeling he really didn't want to know. His suspenders and ruined shirt had been removed a while ago, and his brass torso was shining in the room's bright florescent lights. “Colonel Peter A. Walter I built four steam powered robots in 1896. He used a mysterious energy source called blue matter to power all of you, and to give you false life. You are sentient creatures with no soul... a grown man's fancy toys built to amuse. And yet, you mimic human emotion beautifully. No one before or since has managed such marvels of engineering, and he did so with little more than steam and gears and clockwork.” He picked up a device from the tray, and though the Jon did not recognize what it was, the sight of it filled him with a sick sense of dread. “We intend to be the first.”

* * *

It had taken hours of searching to find any kinds of clue on the Walter manor grounds, and still no sign of anything that could indicate who had stolen the Jon during the storm. The device that had been used to cut off the generator had no indication of its origin on it, or at least not that Steve could locate, and by the time afternoon rolled around, it took Sam all but brow beating all of them to get them to come inside to at least get some nourishment in them. The Spine and Rabbit sat side by side at a table in the kitchen, each fidgeting with a couple of bottles of water, as the humans sat ranged about nearby, mostly just picking at their food.

“I ca-ca-ca-can't stop thinking-ing about what they m-m-might be doin' to Jon,” Rabbit was saying, staring mournfully at the empty spot their youngest brother would normally occupy. “You d-don't think they'd kill 'im, w-w-w-would they?”

Michael's expression went dark almost immediately as Sam and Steve gave Rabbit a look indicating he should probably end that train of thought. The copper automaton shrunk back with a mumbled “sorry” as the Spine reached out to put a hand on his oldest brother's shoulder. “We'll find him before they hurt him, Rabbit. It's just a matter of figuring out where they- NNGH!”

The suddenness with which the tall silver robot cut off, dropping his water bottle to grasp his head, caused everyone to stop what they were doing. Rabbit immediately bolted to his feet. “The Spine?!”

“We need to get to the Hall of Wires.” The automaton was already stumbling to his feet, heading in that direction. “Now!”

He didn't pause to wait for anyone else, heading for the stairs, leading up to the room he essentially lived in. Everyone else was quickly hot on his heels, and even Rabbit cringed back anxiously when they entered the room. QWERTY was swinging her monitor back and forth, letting out a high pitched shrieking sound. It almost seemed like an old dial-up modem, if someone had amped up the pitch.

The Spine was the first to move forward, using his connection with the room to coax the monitor down where he could grab it, his jaw clenched tightly against the sound. “QWERTY! What in the world is the matter with you?”

The monitor wailed again, images flashing rapidly across the screen. A building, part of an address, and... the Jon.

“J-J-J-Jon!” Rabbit moved over to his brother's side as the images started to slow. “QWERTY, whe-where are you getting these images-es-es?”

She didn't respond, and soon, the images were replaced by the smiling face of a woman, dark waves framing her face. She was not unattractive, but she looked like the sort who had nothing good at heart. “Good evening, gentlemen... and automatons.”

The Spine, slowly recovering from the shrill sounds that still echoed inside his mechanical head, narrowed his photoreceptors at the mystery woman. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I'm here to have a very important conversation with you.” She tipped her head forward a bit, looking at each face in the room. “My name is Victoria. I am the head of security for a company known as Cryptodyne Industries. We have the Walter automaton known as the Jon at our facility.” She smiled as an image appeared on a small monitor behind her. It was a live feed, apparently, of a scientist working away the neat brass plates of the small robot's chest. From the bright glow of the little automaton's photoreceptors, he was completely awake. “Aside from some... minor structural damage, he is aware of his surroundings and will remain unharmed, provided you lot are prepared to do something in return.”

Immediately the Spine bristled, steam pouring from the vents along his spinal column. “How dare you?! You steal our brother in the dead of night, and then expect us to cooperate with you?!”

Michael stepped forward at that, putting a hand on the Spine's arm. “We don't really have a choice, Spine. What do you want from us, lady?”

Victoria gave a sweet smile at him, fluttering her lashes girlishly. “We want you, Michael Reed. We have been working, for a long time, with an energy source I believe you may have heard of while working for the Walters. Red matter. We would like to use it for our projects, but it is unstable, and the only known way of tempering it is-”

“Purple matter,” Michael interrupted, free hand clenched so tightly into a fist that it trembled. “Are you seriously out of your mind? Red matter is dangerous. It's volatile under the best conditions. You can't possibly expect me to agree to this.”

The woman, however, was not deterred, keeping her attention focused on him. “I beg to differ, Mr. Reed. You work with purple matter, and are presently the foremost expert on its use. If anyone can successfully manipulate the purple matter to... temper the red matter, it's you. Of course, if you wish to still be difficult... we can escalate this.” A wicked smile curved her lips as the monitor behind her betrayed a brief glimpse of the terror and pain on the Jon's face before blacking out. “It's your choice, Mr. Reed. Your little system here will have the number to reach me at once you decide. I would choose quickly... you're the only chance that mouthy little toy has.”

With those words, the monitor went black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions have to be made...

There were few things that the Jon could actively remember disliking. He didn't like his wig being pulled off, because his head was so strangely shaved down. Once he'd had a stove pipe, but that was replaced by Col. Walter as soon as they'd figured out his steam went entirely to his limbs for movement as opposed to actually helping power him. He didn't like crushed feathers, because they stopped being colorful if they got hurt. He didn't like very hot days because they made him feel sticky and stiff.

Now he was learning a new dislike: pain. The blue matter had so many more secrets than anyone had originally suspected. Very hot water didn't much bother them because of their boilers, but laser scalpels cutting through the metal skin was not hot water. It was the reason why, he now understood, Michael and Steve always made sure to shut them down before any more intense repairs. Sam even took the time to disconnect limbs when there were minor dents to ding out.

Now all he could really do was lay still and unmoving as Dr. Amsterdam took his time peeling back the brass plates on the little automaton's chest, not even heeding the pained cries the action drew from his “subject.” “Now now,” he scolded, “you're overreacting. Learned responses are all well and good, but you're behaving like you expect me to believe you.” The scientist patted the exposed shoulder, watching with morbid curiosity as the koi fish living in the void in the Jon's chest flitted about anxiously, uncomfortable at such exposure. “You are a strange specimen. That human that seems so attached to you should be able to explain your workings a bit better... personally, I would take you apart to discover it, but our employer requests we make certain you remain... operational.”

The Jon didn't really register the words being spoken to him. He knew “that human” more than likely indicated Michael, and dread settled in him at even trying to think of what these awful people wanted with him, but for now, his focus was on hurting.

“Hurt” was such an abstract. He remembered the Spine explaining, once upon a time, why he had been built to feel pain at all. They needed to know when parts weren't working properly, and when gears ground against one another or a joint was twisted out of shape. Rabbit had long since learned to ignore his aches and pains so no one would inquire about his lack of repair, though the Spine used his own pain as an indicator of when repairs or updates were needed. The Jon followed the Spine's advice when he could. It was very sad to watch Rabbit slowly fall apart, after all, and he hoped maybe he could show Rabbit that by keeping up with all his updates and repairs, they were actually doing what Pappy would have wanted them to do as opposed to the repairs being some terrible thing.

He tried to keep his mind on this path. He didn't want to think about how much it hurt to have his gears jammed and wiggled, his wiring and pistons exposed by a man who had no finesse at all... no respect for the craftsmanship. He wished he would just power up and discover this was all a horrible dream influenced by the constant fluctuation of the wormhole in his chest. He couldn't even remember if he ever actually dreamed. Everything felt so far away.

He kept his optic guards shuttered despite the pain, knowing that if he allowed himself to see, it would allow reality to set in all too clearly.

He did his best to keep from whimpering or crying out the entire time. He couldn't flinch or jerk away when the indication that this “hurt” rippled through him. Maybe if he just focused hard enough, he could pretend this wasn't happening at all.

And maybe, he remembered the Spine saying once, pigs would sprout wings and fly to the moon.

Which was also a much better thought.

* * *

As the case stood, Michael was pacing restlessly in front of QWERTY's monitor. The bodiless program followed him this way and that, clearly upset she had made him angry, and the Spine just stood stiff backed next to Rabbit. The other humans clearly had no idea what to say or suggest, but Rabbit had something of a vague idea. “...we could tr-tr-try to trick them.”

“It won't work,” Michael immediately shot back. “They'll be able to tell if anyone else is with me, if they've got the technology to black out the mansion and whisk away Jon without any of us realizing it. I can't just stay here and let them do whatever they want to him!”

Steve frowned at him, reaching over to grab the other human's shoulder, stilling his frantic pacing. “You're not gonna be able to do anything in the state you're in, Mike. I'll go ahead and get started on a program to trace the call.” He noticed the look Michael was giving him and frowned. “I don't like it any more than you do, but what else can we do? It's this or you actually go there and god only knows what would happen then.”

He was about to stand up when he noticed Michael was no longer even looking at him. His expression had shifted drastically from angry to stunned, as though some great revelation had just been revealed to him. Moments later, he stood up, he spun on his friend. “That's it. That's it! I'll do exactly what she says. I'll go there. I can get Jon out from inside!”

“No!” Rabbit blurted, lunging forward to grab Michael's arms. “Y-y-you can't! There's no tellin' what they'll even-even do to you!”

Michael just lifted his hands, gripping Rabbit's wrists. He wasn't really hurting from the automaton's tight grip, but he did need him to let it go. “Rabbit, you're hurting my arms.” Reflexively, stiffened joints released and the human stepped back, patting one trembling copper hand. “Look, I know that you're worried about what'll happen, but I promise it'll be okay. Whatever they do to me won't be worse than what they're probably doing to poor Jon right now, and I get the feeling their purpose for me has nothing to do with experiments.”

As he stepped back, he was surprised when the Spine moved forward and, instead of restraining him, grabbed hold of Rabbit's arms, face betraying something between concern and reluctant compliance for his human friend's decision. “Rabbit, Michael knows what he's doing.” The other two humans passed the tall silver robot incredulous looks, but he opted to ignore them and kept talking. “Besides, someone has to tell the young master what's happened when he's back from abroad. He and his parents will want to know what's going on, and it's our duty to make sure they stay informed about this. Michael...?”

“I'll be okay. Thank you, Spine.” He started by, patting the tall silver robot's arm. “I need to get some things together, then I need you guys to clear out while I have QWERTY pull up the number.”

This time it was Sam that stopped him. “Michael, I have to agree with Rabbit on this. You can't possibly be serious. We don't know where these people are, and how do you expect to get out if they lock you up?”

Michael just shrugged, turning away to head for the door again. “Sam, we've dealt with weirder things in this mansion alone. I'm sure a bunch of kooks won't be enough to hold me. Besides, you know I've got my tricks. It'll be fine.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Michael stood quietly in front of QWERTY's monitor, listening to the AI prattle on endlessly about how she didn't want him to go, he would be killed, and humans were not like robots, if they died, they couldn't just be brought back online with a pair of jumper cables. On and on she went, until finally, he held up his hands.

“Okay, QWERTY, I get it. Easy. Just pull up the number.” He rocked back on his heels, trying to keep his expression as patient as he could as he waited. “Please?”

QWERTY gave an annoyed sound, but at long last, she did dial the number, and moments later, the smiling face of the woman before appeared on the screen. “Mr. Reed. I take it you've come to a decision.”

His fists clenched at his sides, Michael tipped his chin up a bit. “Not that you've given me too much of a choice.”

“Oh, you've got a choice. It just largely depends on how many pieces you were expecting to find that lovely little robot in after the wrong one.” She flashed a grin of too white teeth, too wide, insincere. She was mocking him now. “So what are you planning to do?”

Slowly, Michael let out a sigh. “In the end, I don't have a choice at all. Jon's too important to me to let you monsters do whatever you want to him. I'll do whatever you want.”

Victoria's face lit up in a manic grin, her long fingers steepled lightly in front of her face. “Excellent! I believe you'll find in the long run that this is truly the better option. Here's the deal: you need to walk down to the main road, and approximately a mile south. Once you're there, one of our operatives will pick you up and bring you here. Keep in mind, you'll be monitored. If there's any funny business at all, or any of the other creations try to follow you, the project will be scrapped and the only thing you'll find of that little mess will be a pile of brass and neatly folded clothing with a top hat as decoration. Understood?”

The sheer fury Michael felt at the threat to the Jon's life almost forced words from his mouth that he knew he would regret, but he bit his tongue almost hard enough to draw blood before finally speaking again. “Understood. When?”

“As soon as is convenient for you. Which would mean today, if you're available.” Her smile turned so sweet it made his stomach churn. “We'll see you soon.”

Once the screen had gone black, Michael let a long breath out through his nose, eyes closed. There was literally no turning back now. What was done was done, and now, it was entirely up to him.

* * *

It had taken too much time to convince Rabbit and Sam he was doing the right thing. In the end, however, Michael won out, and an hour later he was standing quietly a mile south of the mansion on the main road, arms folded tightly over his chest, gazing back and forth up the street. This particular stretch was often fairly abandoned, simply because people were afraid of the spindly old manor on the hill. He was starting to worry he'd fallen for some awful trick when he heard the sound of an engine rumbling in the distance and turned, brow furrowed.

The big black SUV had no distinguishing markings, nothing to signify make or model, and no license plates. Once the vehicle came to a stop, the door swung open on several men in crisp suits sitting inside, all of them watching the lone man standing on the side of the road carefully. Finally, a woman sitting nearest the door spoke up. “Michael Reed?”

“That's me.” He didn't move. “So are we doing this or not?”

One of the mysterious men nodded and scooted over, giving Michael room to climb inside. Once the door was closed, the driver revved the engine, carrying them off to their destination.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitter reunions. (The song in this chapter is Celtic Woman's "The Blessing.")

With the windows tinted as they were and his back to the front, Michael was left to only guess which direction they were heading in. He sat in silence most of the trip, ignoring the overpowering smell of cologne and the closeness of human bodies. He'd gotten so used to being around the robots that he'd almost forgotten the uncomfortable stiffness that came from a press of tired people.

He was happy when they did finally come to a stop, stretching only briefly before he and his tired limbs were pushed in the direction of the large building the long car trip had brought them to. Like the SUV, there was nothing distinguishing to signify ownership or purpose. It was an older building, all brick and steel, with too few windows and vents high up. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of fire hazard this created, but then, people willing to steal a sentient robot from his family probably had no interest in other sorts of safety.

Inside was an entirely different story. It was clinical white with the sharp, unpleasant smell of processed air and chlorine almost suffocating him. No one wore smiles. They were wraiths in white lab coats, hurrying from one point in space to another, blending in even as the agents in black suits stood out, ushering him down a long hallway and turning corners until they reached their destination. The door, like the walls surrounding, was a clean white, and he was in the process of steeling himself for what lay behind it when the door slid open and he was pushed inside.

Unlike the rooms and hallways outside, this room was less sterile, but no less imposing. The desk across the room was made of very heavy wood, making the woman sitting on the other side of it seem terribly small. She smiled at him, however, and he recognized her face from the videos during their calls. “Victoria.”

“One in the same. You've a fairly decent memory, Mr. Reed.” With one hand, she motioned to a nearby seat. Michael did not sit, however, keeping focused on the woman with a scowl. “...my goodness. You are a bitter little man, aren't you?”

The smirk that crossed Michael's lips was dry. “Lady, you kidnapped my best friend. I don't let that kind of thing slide lightly. Comprende?”

Victoria laughed a bit, leaning back in her chair to regard the dark haired human, sweeping his long frame once with her eyes before smirking. “Do you really think this is going to be a negotiation?”

“I know it will be.” Michael clenched his fists a bit tighter. “I clearly have something you want or you wouldn't have insisted I come here to start. You wanna use Jon as a bargaining chip? Fine. I'll roll with that. But you won't get good work out of me if you hurt Jon. Before we talk anything about how this is gonna go down... I want to see him. I want to make sure you're good on your promise and Jon is okay.”

For a moment, Victoria just watched him thoughtfully, pursing her lips. He had a feeling his ploy wouldn't work and he wouldn't be taken to his friend, but the woman surprised him, turning to a man standing in the corner. “You. Take Mr. Reed to the laboratories. I'll make sure Dr. Amsterdam has cleared out. You have exactly one hour.” She fixed her gaze on Michael again, cold and thoughtful. “After that, we're having our talk.”

Michael shrugged a bit, doing his best to shrug off her words. He had an hour. That was enough to start getting things settled. The tall man nodded to him, and quietly, he followed him out into the hall.

* * *

The man himself, while taller than Michael, didn't have the look to him of someone who was inherently cruel or violent. He walked with practiced stiffness, though discomfort read in his expression and pace, and he was very careful not to make eye contact with the man he was leading. It took a few minutes for Michael to finally find his voice again. “So... you worked here long?”

The taller man shrugged a bit. “Not very. Not the kind of work I'd like to have, but it pays the bills. Are there any questions you have, Mr. Reed?”

“Call me Michael.” Something in the agent's tone just wasn't right. Perhaps if he was careful... “Do you have a name?”

The pace increased just slightly, and the man again shrugged. “I do, but no one ever uses it. I guess for now, you can call me Mook. Everyone else does.”

“...okay. Mook. You really like doing this, Mook?”

When the agent stopped, Michael had to as well, looking up at the severe glance of the bigger man. He either just made a very bad mistake, or... “I don't much care for what the boss or Dr. Amsterdam or doing. Look, we shouldn't be talking about this.”

Mook took Michael's shoulder after that, urging him forward. Michael did not let up, though... not now that he had an edge. “What they're doing? What do you mean?”

“Like I said, we shouldn't be talking about it,” Mook answered roughly. “This is the room. You've got an hour. I'll be waiting outside.”

He settled himself beside the door without another word, and Michael sighed. He could try again later; right now what mattered was getting to the Jon. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, his heart clenching at what he saw.

It was a fair bet the little automaton couldn't see him. The Jon wasn't moving at all, his brass limbs laying still on the metal table, pained little keening noises drifting up from his voice box. Michael could clearly see the peeled back brass plating and the faint illumination the wormhole and his blue matter core cast on the ceiling above. Without hesitating a moment longer, he rushed over, reaching out his hands. “Jon!”

The sound his friend made sent awful, worried chills up his spine. It was like metal grating in on itself, but after a moment, Jon's soft, melodic voice finally drifted out. “Michael? Michael, you came for me! No, you couldn't have! No, Michael, go away, go home! They'll hurt you too!”

He paid no mind to the Jon's frantic pleading, climbing up on the side of the metal slab to pull his friend's head and shoulders into his lap. “Oh god, buddy, look what they've done to you... they even messed up your new shirt.” His attempt to lighten what was already a dangerous situation failed horribly as the Jon's bright blue eyes glowed up at him, full of fear and hurt. “...I'm so, so sorry, Jon. I should've had you walk with me when I went down to check the power.”

“It isn't your fault.” The Jon's voice was small and quiet, as if the life had been bled right out of him. “You shouldn't be here, Michael...”

At first, Michael didn't answer. His eyes were focused on the damage done to the Jon, his suspenders removed and his neat new shirt shredded. The brass of his torso was dented and scratched, the chest plating peeled back to reveal the inner workings, the wormhole, and the fish and hot dog bun inside. He didn't at all like that the koi was looking a little less lively, barely moving as it made its slow circuit around the black void.

Even more distressing was the way it looked like the Jon's arms had been pulled from their joints to cut the hydraulic lines, leaving him helpless. He frowned, smoothing a few wild copper curls, watching his small friend's expression very carefully. “But I came anyway, because it's like I've told you a hundred thousand times. We're best bros, okay Jonny? The very best. I'll find a way to get you out of this mess and get you home, okay?”

When the little robot nodded, Michael gave him a soft shake, and he finally spoke up. “If there's anyone I can trust, it's you, Michael.”

Michael nodded a bit, relieved at the response but not entirely. The Jon was by no means “okay” and wasn't going to be unless he got him out of here, and soon. “...have you been able to power down and get some rest?” When the Jon shook his head, his frown deepened. “Would you like me to sing to you to help you power down?”

“...I would like that, if you would.”

The human nodded softly, swallowing hard as he settled the Jon's shoulders on his lap. “In the morning when you rise, I bless the sun, I bless the skies. I bless your lips, I bless your eyes. My blessing goes with you.” It was so wrong, seeing his best friend like this. The friend that had been with him since he was a child, always there for him. The friend who never seemed to grow up, and he always felt the need to protect. “In the nighttime when you sleep, oh, I bless you while a watch I keep. As you lie in slumber deep, my blessing goes with you.” He had failed in keeping that one person he considered his closest friend safe. Now he had to get them both out of here. “This is my prayer for you: there for you, ever true. Each, every day for you, in everything you do...” Awful nightmares borne of a century of death. Nights when the Jon couldn't power down for the memories of war and his own one-time “death,” when he'd clung to Michael's side for companionship and comfort. “And when you come to me and hold me close to you, I bless you and you bless me, too.”

It took a moment for him to realize that the Jon was singing along with him, however softly, protective lids covered over glowing blue eyes, his frame far too still. “When your weary heart is tired, if the world would leave you uninspired... when nothing more of love's desired, my blessing goes with you.”

Michael couldn't help a weary smile, patting the Jon's shoulder as he continued to sing, doing his level best to keep his voice from breaking. “When the storms of life are strong, when you're wounded, when you don't belong, when you no longer hear my song, my blessing goes with you. This is my prayer for you, there for you, ever true. Each, every day for you, in everything you do...” He curled over a bit, somewhat tense. The Jon had already started to drift into his “sleep” cycle, face plates relaxing. “And when you come to me and hold me close to you, I bless you and you bless me, too. I bless you and you bless me, too...”

* * *

In her control room, Victoria was looking less than amused as she watched the monitor of the human and the robot, lips pursed and fingers pressed together at the tips. They behaved more like brothers than any human should with some worthless piece of scrap metal. The creature was only emulating human emotion, after all... there was absolutely no reason to feel any more for it than one did a can opener., no matter how highly advanced.'

Such a pity that such an attractive young man should be so completely and blindly dedicated to a piece of junk some old crackpot had built in a desperate bid for the attention of a woman who had died before realizing his intent. That he hadn't scrapped the three automatons after the fact was only proof of his madness... sentient robots. True artificial life. Absurd.

She watched Michael's face as he sat up, carefully rearranging the Jon's slim form on the slab, looking him over with all the care of a parent. How disgusting. Had it been up to her, they would have off-lined the bizarre little machine and done all the research on their own, but he had made it clear: for all the research they did, their true objective was Michael Reed. The last known manipulator of the elusive purple matter.

Oh, well. There was more than one way to skin a cat.

“Your childish attachment to the subject is amusing at best, trying at worst,” she murmured at the screen, memorizing every line in the young man's face. “But no matter. We will break you of this attachment, Mr. Reed. Make no mistake about that.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes something called red matter, which a good friend of mine came up with. Information about what it can do can be found [here](http://davidtennantspants.tumblr.com/post/28835214211/headcanon-master-post-red-matter).

An hour was far too short a time. He knew the minutes had to be whittling away quicker than he could keep track of them, but Michael did not move from where he sat by the Jon's head, watching the little brass robot's torn open chest cavity with a great deal of concern. The fish was still behaving oddly, its movements slow and weak. He didn't know if it was a result of the trauma the Jon had experienced or something else, but it worried him. The wormhole's pulse was a little weak as well.

It was very likely the Jon was dying. He needed a way to get him back to the mansion, but as of yet, he didn't even know what they wanted from him. This wasn't even fair. Of all of the robots, the Jon was the quietest, gentlest, most harmless. Sure he had his quirks, and things went weird around him all the time. Things would just go missing around him, and you couldn't really get angry because he couldn't always control it. He would just look at you with this distressed face, apologizing as much as he could, hands fluttering around as he did his best to try to figure out where it could've gone. He was so childish at times it was almost laughable, but that only served to make this awful torture he was enduring all the more heart wrenching.

When the door finally opened to reveal Mook once more, he didn't look up, one fist clenching against his thigh as he watched the Jon's still, quiet form. “I guess that's it, then.”

“I gave you a little extra time.”

Michael didn't move for a moment, but after he took the time to straighten the Jon's messy wig and give him one last squeeze on his solid, narrow shoulder, he stood to walk over to the door. “I guess it's talk time with the lady, then.”

“Miss Victoria's busy right now, but she's asked me to fill you in.” He locked the door once they were both out, heading up the hall with the young man on his heels. “You've been brought here because you're the last known controller of purple matter. They've got a project for you.”

Michael's back stiffened. “Just because I know how to use it doesn't mean that it'll do anyone any good.”

Mook shrugged a bit. “They said they've got their reasons. I'm not smart enough to know what they want you to do, only that you're here and I'm supposed to limit your time seeing that little guy.”

Little guy. Mook was talking about the Jon like a person, not like a robot. “...you do realize he's dying.”

That got Mook's attention. He actually stopped and turned to look at Michael, looking rather serious. “What do you mean he's dying? Robots can't die, can they?”

“That's cute. They can die just as easily as a human can. I've got no Crystal Pepsi for him, his boiler's low, and his power levels are very quickly dwindling into the critical range. If that crazy whackjob keeps hacking away at him, it'll reduce the amount of time he has.” Michael's face was serious as the grave. “I'll do what they want, but they've got to promise to limit whatever it is they're doing to Jon. Because if he dies, I will personally guarantee to rain hell down on all of your heads.”

Slowly, Mook nodded his understanding. “...I didn't know they were actually hurting him. He seems like... like a little kid almost.”

Michael nodded as they started to walk again, his head down and his expression tight. “They're fully sentient and self aware, capable of learning and making choices... but sometimes, it's really easy to forget how old they really are because of their behavior. Jon's the baby of the three, so to speak, so he tends to get treated that way.” When Mook stopped next to an open laboratory door, he hesitated. “...guess this is my stop.”

“They've made sure you're supplied with plenty of red matter too.”

Almost immediately, Michael stiffened, staring up at the bigger man. “Red matter? They want me to... no! That stuff is dangerous under the best of circumstances and you're sitting here telling me that they want me to work with it?!”

Mook shrugged a bit. “That's just what the boss said. I don't question what she tells me.”

Oh, this was not good. This was definitely not good. He didn't have a chance to say no, either; he had a feeling Mook wasn't too keen on hurting the Jon, and that had made his little brass friend an ally in an unexpected place, but his own person was not out of range of injury. Swallowing, he stepped forward into the lab, feeling the awful wave of discomfort settle over him. Years of exposure to the purple matter drastically limited red matter's effect on him, but he could still feel the awful creeping up his spine, his shoulders tensing up.

He tried to shrug it off as he walked over to the work desk and promptly realized what they wanted him to do.

“Oh god. Oh god, what do they think they're doing?”

* * *

Rabbit had not been able to rest. Despite sticking knee joints and twitching arms and hands, he paced the length of the main sitting room, bi-colored eyes glowing rightly. Photoreceptors that had been a gift from his brothers during the second world war, when he'd lost both eyes to a shrapnel. He had guided them home with that gift, and when they were repaired, he had declined having his replaced.

The gift did have its shortcomings, though. Occasionally, as the eyes did not belong to him, they malfunctioned and he could see things that should have been his brothers' to see. He saw flashes of a face, of some sort of laser scalpel, of a too white ceiling and too bright lights. He wished he could tell where it was, with the Jon so wide-eyed and undoubtedly filled with fear. It was his job to protect his brothers, especially the Jon, and he felt he had somehow failed.

He didn't stop pacing when the Spine spoke to him, worried. “You need to sit down, Rabbit. I can feel the heat you're generating from here.”

“I can't stop right no-now. I'm w-w-w-worried.” The old copper automaton looked up at his sleek younger brother, expression pinched. “What if they-ey don't come home? Wh-wh-what if those guys... kill Michael? An' Jon?”

The Spine frowned as he stepped over, reaching out to still his brother's frantic pacing. “They won't. We'll find a way to bring them home.”

Frowning, Rabbit shuffled a bit until he lifted his gaze to match the Spine's, expression clouded. “The Spine,” he murmured, working very hard to keep his words level and without hitch, “where do we go when we die?”

The younger robot straightened his back a bit, looking uncertain of how to answer that question. “...we don't technically die, Rabbit. If we break down, someone can always fix us.”

“But the J-J-J-Jon is different,” Rabbit countered, clearly bothered. “He's not power-owered by the same things we are. If he dies, he ma-may never come b-b-b-back!”

Steam vented sharply from his cheeks as he spoke, and the Spine made a worried noise. Whenever Rabbit managed to get himself worked up, it had a tendency to bring on a subsequent breakdown. With the master away, Michael with those people, and Steve and Sam off looking for clues, there would be no one to fix him should he manage to do so again. So the Spine reached up, framing Rabbit's face with his long hands, black rubber lips pressed tightly together. “He's not going to die. Michael is with him, wherever they are, and you know that he'll take good care of him.”

Rabbit didn't look up at him, keeping his attention focused on the floor between them, his antique frame rattling with his shivers. The Spine was not about to admit that he was just as frightened. Between the two of them, someone had to be the strong one, after all.

He never once minded it being him.

* * *

To be honest, he had never originally given much thought to what his employers were doing. They had hired him when no one else would, and he did what he was told with very little lip in response. He'd heard the little robot crying when they first brought him to the facility, of course, but he'd done his best to block it out. Despite a moderately adult sounding voice, he still sounded like a frightened child,

They had told him it was a learned response. These were only machines, after all. But something about the little robot's tone was far too pleading, far too frightened. That was not a learned response. He may not be the brightest of Miss Victoria's employees, but he was at least well trained enough to identify true distress and fear when he heard it.

As Mook stood in front of the door where Dr. Amsterdam had been working, where Michael Reed had sat for over an hour taking care of the little brass robot, he made a decision and opened the door. The “good” doctor wouldn't be back for another couple of hours at least.

The small automaton didn't move from his spot, though it was clear he was starting to wake up, little pained whimpers rising from his voice box. As Mook stepped forward toward him, the whimpering grew louder. “Where's Michael? What have you done with him? Please don't hurt him! You can do whatever you want to me! Please leave Michael alone! He's my best friend in the whole world. I don't want him to die!”

Mook frowned. “I'm not going to hurt him. He's here because the bosses want him to do something for him. You're just here to make sure he does what he's told.”

“You're lying,” the Jon mumbled in reply, his frame twitching a little. He couldn't move, but it was clear he was immensely unhappy. “That awful man's picked me apart and he's upset Sir Finnington.”

Puzzled, the man drew up a chair, but not before he caught a glimpse into the Jon's chest, taking note of the koi fish quietly making lazy movements through the robot's open cavity. “...Sir Finnington. Right. Are you in pain?”

The Jon gave him a pathetic look out the corner of his eye. “That's a silly question, isn't it? I'm certain you would hurt if someone pulled your chest apart. Though I feel much more sick than hurt.”

“...I guess I just wasn't aware robots could feel like that.” Mook folded his hands in his lap. He had told Michael he didn't like what they were doing. “Do you have a name?”

Though the little robot was skeptical, someone speaking to him in careful tones, not grabbing at him or trying to hurt him was a far cry better than the so-called doctor. He closed his eyes, and Mook watched with a strange, unpleasant twist in his chest as a trickle of oil crept from the corner of the Jon's eyes. “I'm called the Jon.”

“It's nice to meet you, the Jon. ...I'm Mook.”


End file.
